"That man can destroy life is just as miraculous a feat as that he can create it, for life is the miracle, the inexplicable. In the act of destruction, man sets himself above life; he transcends himself as a creature. Thus, the ultimate choice for a man, inasmuch as he is driven to transcend himself, is to create or to destroy, to love or to hate."
-Erich Fromm, The Sane Society
The frigid rain was pouring down in sheets, engulfing the blonde adonis and washing the blood of his hands as Draco walked away from the Burrow household.
He smiled venomously, recalling the ecstatic exhilaration and raptuous vengeance he had felt as he murdered almost all the Weasley's one by one, tortuously slow and lingeringly excruciating.
First, he had removed the filth that was Arthur from the wizarding world, making sure that the others, bound and gagged in a corner, were sure to see everything.
The fear was so evident in his eyes, but it was not for himself.
He had kept trying to protect his family, refusing to capitulate till the moonlight glinted off a polished metal.
Oh no, not till he saw the knife did he start fearing for himself.
It's funny, really, how even Arthur had stopped fearing for others once he had death shoved in his face, his kights forgotten as death ran towards him in languorous, lacerating steps.
So much for Gryffindor bravery.
More like Gryffindor brevity.
His only regret, in his otherwise immaculate murder, was that the death's delay granted Arthur a few brief articulations before he was rid of, letting him tell his dumpy wife that he loved her as his unworthy life escaped from his wrists and forever tainted the kitchen floor.
Then, his other playthings were still sobbing, begging and pleading as they watched their loved ones die.
They were surprised, and frightened.
He had arrived at sunset, in the midst of a family meeting as they cried over their missing sister.
Little did they know that it was because of their sister that they were to die.
And oh, what a death.
The screams still lingered indulgently in his ears, bringing forth vivid memories of burning the freckled dragon slayer, and beating the second-oldest child till he begged for mercy.
It truly was a waste of energy, for did he actually expect it?
There are only three sins - causing pain, causing fear, and causing anguish.
His master had taught him to cause all, and spare none.
After them, his pets had stopped crying, and only sat there, stony faced and dry eyed.
They had accepted their fate.
People only see what they are prepared to see unless you insist on holding their eyes open.
And then gouging them out with a spoon.
And then the twins... he had some fun with both of them.
He decided to be creative, and forced one, what was his name, Fred? to kill the other.
"Please don't hate me" he had begged before he had succumbed to the imperio and killed his other half.
The other twin was bloody and lifeless before he could reply.
They had joined each other soon afterwards...
Oh, that had been fun.
And then there were only two left.
Molly would no longer be cooking, he had made sure of that.
And then, but one single toy was left in the toybox.
But he decided not to kill him.
Oh no, he'd be sure to do the job himself once he'd find out the whereabouts of his missing sister...
Chuckling, Draco returned to his master and his redheaded queen, perpetually shackled to his master's side.
"Once the game is over, the king and the pawn go back in the same box."
-Erich Fromm, The Sane Society
The frigid rain was pouring down in sheets, engulfing the blonde adonis and washing the blood of his hands as Draco walked away from the Burrow household.
He smiled venomously, recalling the ecstatic exhilaration and raptuous vengeance he had felt as he murdered almost all the Weasley's one by one, tortuously slow and lingeringly excruciating.
First, he had removed the filth that was Arthur from the wizarding world, making sure that the others, bound and gagged in a corner, were sure to see everything.
The fear was so evident in his eyes, but it was not for himself.
He had kept trying to protect his family, refusing to capitulate till the moonlight glinted off a polished metal.
Oh no, not till he saw the knife did he start fearing for himself.
It's funny, really, how even Arthur had stopped fearing for others once he had death shoved in his face, his kights forgotten as death ran towards him in languorous, lacerating steps.
So much for Gryffindor bravery.
More like Gryffindor brevity.
His only regret, in his otherwise immaculate murder, was that the death's delay granted Arthur a few brief articulations before he was rid of, letting him tell his dumpy wife that he loved her as his unworthy life escaped from his wrists and forever tainted the kitchen floor.
Then, his other playthings were still sobbing, begging and pleading as they watched their loved ones die.
They were surprised, and frightened.
He had arrived at sunset, in the midst of a family meeting as they cried over their missing sister.
Little did they know that it was because of their sister that they were to die.
And oh, what a death.
The screams still lingered indulgently in his ears, bringing forth vivid memories of burning the freckled dragon slayer, and beating the second-oldest child till he begged for mercy.
It truly was a waste of energy, for did he actually expect it?
There are only three sins - causing pain, causing fear, and causing anguish.
His master had taught him to cause all, and spare none.
After them, his pets had stopped crying, and only sat there, stony faced and dry eyed.
They had accepted their fate.
People only see what they are prepared to see unless you insist on holding their eyes open.
And then gouging them out with a spoon.
And then the twins... he had some fun with both of them.
He decided to be creative, and forced one, what was his name, Fred? to kill the other.
"Please don't hate me" he had begged before he had succumbed to the imperio and killed his other half.
The other twin was bloody and lifeless before he could reply.
They had joined each other soon afterwards...
Oh, that had been fun.
And then there were only two left.
Molly would no longer be cooking, he had made sure of that.
And then, but one single toy was left in the toybox.
But he decided not to kill him.
Oh no, he'd be sure to do the job himself once he'd find out the whereabouts of his missing sister...
Chuckling, Draco returned to his master and his redheaded queen, perpetually shackled to his master's side.
"Once the game is over, the king and the pawn go back in the same box."